How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (23 page)

“Out the window, then walk down to the terrace. The library doors are always open. If you see anyone inside, tell them you were admiring the sunset. I’ll wait twenty minutes or so and then come in the front door.”

She nodded and went to the window, Sin following. She stepped outside, her heart so low that she had to bite her lip to keep it from betraying her. He climbed out after her, then pulled her back into his arms for a hard, quick kiss.

She turned from him and hurried to the terrace doors, her eyes filled with tears.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Thus far, I have been assisting Sin by orchestrating less competition, making certain that he and Miss Balfour can catch a moment or two together (though I always protest it, as a good chaperone should), keeping the other guests busy so they do not intrude . . . All of this so that they might grow interested in each other.

But Sin has not utilized his time wisely.

Therefore, from now on I shall move my efforts to assisting Miss Balfour. Rather than working to bring the two of them together, I shall do what I can to assist her in eluding him.

Being contrary creatures, nothing spurs men more than feminine disinterest. And God knows, Sin needs a good spur.

Several days later, Sin stalked into the library. “There you are.”

Aunt Margaret turned from the open doorway leading to the terrace. She was holding one of her pugs, the others panting in various positions at her feet. “Where else would I be? We’re planning a luncheon on the terrace. Will you be joining us?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“What a pity. You’ll be greatly missed.” She patted the pug she held, an older one who was almost blind. “Poor Randolph is not feeling well this morning, but I cannot convince Lord Cameron to stop feeding the dogs bits of bacon at breakfast. It’s lethal to poor Randolph’s delicate constitution.” She looked out over the terrace, the warm breeze teasing her blue morning gown. “I’ve never seen such a warm fall. My Winter Ball won’t be a bit wintry.”

“I’ve always wondered why you didn’t have it at a colder time of year.”

“Because it costs a fortune to keep the rooms warm, and Roxburghe will not hold with having every fireplace blazing for days on end. By having it this early, when people are thinking of winter, I can decorate to suggest the chill. Or I could if it were at least cool.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it seem wintry.”

“If the ices don’t melt. I had planned on having over forty ice statues. I may have to come up with an alternative plan.” She sighed and then smiled at him. “But I’m certain you didn’t come to speak about poor Randolph’s digestive issues or my ball.”

“No, but I’m glad to find you alone.”

Her smile never changed but he detected a wary look in her eyes. “Of course, dear. It’s always pleasant to chat with my favorite nephew.”

“I would have spoken with you earlier this morning, but you were gone before I came down to breakfast.”

“Yes, a few of the guests wished to see the sunrise over the river, so we took a carriage and some hot tea and made an excursion of it.” She gave a light laugh. “It has been an exhausting few days! I don’t think I’ve had five minutes to myself, what with the picnics, the ride to the standing stones, visiting the gardens at the church, a lovely game of pall-mall on the front lawn, and whist every night . . . ” Her smile faded. “Lud, but Munro is a vicious opponent. I thought he and the vicar would come to blows last night, when he played that ridiculous hand and the vicar called him a—”

“They were fortunate I didn’t toss them both out into the garden,” Sin said. “Had they continued their bickering another minute, I’d have done it.”

His aunt’s brows rose. “In a temper, are we?”

Bloody hell, yes, he was in a temper. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d been in a worse one.

She tilted her head to one side. “I must admit I was surprised to see you playing whist last night. I thought you detested it.”

Sin had been shocked to find himself playing whist, too. He loathed the game, had been bored
with the company, and hated the incessant banter people seemed to feel was necessary while playing, but he’d had no choice. After his passionate encounter with Rose five endless days ago, she’d been avoiding him.

For the first day or so, he hadn’t minded. After all, it made sense that they should retreat to their corners before the next round.

But as the days passed and Rose made no effort to engage him in conversation, his annoyance grew. Worse, she began to actively avoid him. No matter how he tried, suddenly she was never alone.

Ever.

That had edged his annoyance into sheer irritation and, as the days passed, out-and-out ill temper.

He scowled.
Blast that woman.
He’d thought it impossible to avoid someone when there were so few houseguests present, but Rose was either riding with Munro and a groom, or walking in the garden with Lord Cameron, or playing pall-mall with the Misses Stewart . . . There seemed to be no end to the activities she found to keep her engaged, and all with the other members of their small party.

Sin had reached his limit yesterday morning when he’d come down for breakfast. He saw Rose alone in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, stooped beside one of Aunt Margaret’s infernal pugs, and murmuring silly endearments to it as it lay blissfully at her feet.

He’d watched her for several moments, pleased to have even a silent moment with her even if she were unaware of it. But he must have made a noise, for she’d looked up, and for one glorious, splendid moment, Rose forgot she was avoiding him, and she smiled.

In that second, they were back to where they’d been before their encounter in the salon. Relieved, he’d returned her smile and continued down the stairs toward her. As he did, Rose’s smile faded. Before his foot hit the final step, she’d jumped to her feet and whisked herself into the sitting room.

Fuming, Sin had followed her, ready to demand an accounting. But when he arrived, Rose stood with Miss Muriella, who was discussing the latest fashions, while Miss Isobel and Lady Charlotte sat upon a settee, talking about knitting projects.

Refusing to yield, Sin had tried to catch Rose’s eye. Though her high color told him she knew of his presence, she kept her gaze fixed on Miss Muriella as if thoroughly engrossed. Not about to rudely thrust himself into their conversation, he’d turned on his heel and stalked off.

Unable to vent his frustration, and unwilling to make a fool of himself in public, he was stuck. But then, last night an opportunity had presented itself when the vicar, who’d been playing whist at Rose’s table, excused himself to stand on the terrace and smoke a cigar. Sin had pounced on the opportunity to sit at Rose’s table, but he’d no more than announced
his intention than Aunt Margaret had bustled up and declared her desire for a “ladies only” table. Without giving anyone time to protest, she’d collected Rose and whisked her safely out of his reach.

It was then that Sin realized that his troublesome great-aunt was involved in Rose’s defection.

Aunt Margaret smiled at him now. “So, Sin, what do you wish to talk about? I’ve only a few minutes before I need to oversee the decoration of the luncheon tables.”

“It’s about Miss Balfour.”

“I thought so. While you’re talking, would you please hold Randolph?” Aunt Margaret shoved her pug into Sin’s arms and then pulled a ribbon from her pocket and began to fix it about the pug’s fat neck.

Sin looked at the ribbon with the same disgust that was plainly registered on the dog’s face. “Why are you putting a ribbon around his neck?”

“I’m putting them around all of the dogs’ necks, so they’ll match the luncheon decorations. The servants are tying ribbons around the corners of the tablecloths to keep them from being tossed about in the wind. There. Doesn’t he look handsome with his ribbon? Just like Beenie here.”

“I thought one of them didn’t like ribbons.”

“Poor Meenie. MacDougal kindly offered to keep her in his room until after lunch. She likes it there, for he allows her to sleep on the foot of his bed.” Aunt Margaret took the pug from Sin’s arms and placed
it on the floor, pausing to adjust the bow. “You look very handsome, my little man,” she crooned, and then scooped up another pug, this one silver with a bent ear, and loaded it into Sin’s arms.

“Aunt Margaret, what did you say to Miss Balfour?”

She took another ribbon from her pocket and began to tie it about the pug’s neck. “What did I say to her about what? Our many conversations have covered almost every topic imaginable.”

“Aunt Margaret, you said something to her. We both know it. Miss Balfour won’t speak to me at all, and I know it is your doing.”

“My dear, stop exaggerating. She speaks to you all of the time: at dinner, in the library, while riding—”

“She does in public, yes, but she will no longer speak to me in private.”

Margaret finished tying the ribbon about the little pug’s neck and then put it on the floor with a scratch on its chin. “Judging by the outcome of your private speeches with Miss Balfour, perhaps that’s best for you both.”

Sin glowered. “What has she told you?”

“Everything, I believe. Well, everything that decency allowed her. A few days ago, I was in the library when Miss Balfour came in off the terrace. One look and I could see that she was upset, so”—Aunt Margaret fixed a stern gaze on Sin—“I decided it wasn’t wise for you to see her alone anymore.”

Sin’s jaw tightened. “She’s neither a child nor an innocent, but a grown, capable woman. We’ve done nothing that she didn’t encourage.”

“Which is why I agreed to help her. You are a very difficult man to say no to, even when one knows one should.” She cast a hard look at him. “That’s all I’m going to say about the matter. If you have more questions, then I’d suggest you speak with Miss Balfour.”

“You’re interfering with—” He’d been about to say “my plans,” but the sudden martial light in his aunt’s eyes made him stop.

“I don’t interfere,” she said loftily, shoving another pug in his arms. “I
assist.
And only when asked.”

He cocked a brow at her. “You’ve been watching us.”

“Who hasn’t? It’s far too diverting to ignore. Charlotte and I have been watching the two of you since the day you both returned from your ride soaking wet.”

“We fell into the river.”

“
You
didn’t fall into the river.”

“Fine. Miss Balfour tricked me into riding onto some poor ground where my horse stumbled, and
then
I fell into the river.”

“And afterward?”

“I threw her in as retaliation.”

“That’s unworthy of you.”

He ground his teeth. “Damn it, just leave us alone. Every time I turn around, you are interfering!”

Aunt Margaret kissed the pug as she removed it
from his arms and said in a baby voice, “Who looks adorable now, Weenie? You do!” She placed the dog on the floor and then handed Sin yet another, this one brown with a silver-tipped tail. “Hold Teenie tight while I tie this last bow. He’s a jumper.”

As if to prove this, the dog scrambled to get out of his arms.

Sin snapped, “Hold!” The dog stopped squirming and Margaret rapidly tied a bow around it.

The dog stared up at Sin as if transfixed, his tail wagging steadily. It was so ugly that it was actually cute. Sin lifted a brow at the dog.

The dog leaned up, his whiskers quivering as he sniffed Sin’s chin.

Aunt Margaret beamed. “He likes you.”

The dog sneezed in Sin’s face.

“Oh, for the love of—” Sin dumped the dog into her arms, pulled out his kerchief, and wiped his face. “Blasted animal.”

Margaret kissed the dog’s forehead. “Does poor Teenie have a cold?”

Sin stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m sorry. What were we talking about again?”

“Why are you meddling in Miss Balfour’s and my relationship?”

She sighed. “Sin, I never meddle. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Of course. You
assist.
”

“Yes, or give a nudge where it’s needed, but I never meddle.”

“And just who do you think you were assisting when you advised Miss Balfour to avoid me?”

Aunt Margaret set the dog on the floor. “I assisted both of you. When I spoke to Miss Balfour, I realized how difficult things had become for you two.”

“Difficult? Things weren’t difficult.”

“You’d both been here barely a week and you couldn’t come into contact with each other without exchanging heated words.”

And heated kisses. And I’ll be damned if I’ll give those up.
“We would have worked things out by now if we’d had some time to discuss things.” Things like how much he loved to see her come alive under his touch. And how often he’d remembered the feel of her against him, her body perfectly fitted to his. And how—

“You can discuss things with her now, but in the safety of society.”

Like hell.
“What exactly did you say to her?”

“I told her that I was certain she didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past.”

He groaned. “Aunt Margaret, no!”

“And that it seemed as if you and she were well on your way to doing so.” Aunt Margaret paused. “I also told her that if anything happened under my roof, I’d know whose fault it was.”

“You can’t blame her for—”

“Not her,” Margaret corrected him. “
You
are the one attempting to seduce an innocent. She is merely guilty of succumbing.”

“Let me put your mind at ease on that head, at least. I’ve never wished to or attempted to seduce a virgin, and I never will.”

“You don’t know what Miss Balfour is or isn’t,” Aunt Margaret said tartly. “It’s not proper for the two of you to meet in private, and you both know it. This is safer for everyone involved. There’s only a week until the Winter Ball, and after that you and Miss Balfour are free to do whatever you wish . . . under someone else’s roof.”

A week.
The word hit him like a cannon shot.
Bloody hell, I have only one short week before Rose is gone. Perhaps forever.
Urgency gripped him.